He ran the fingers of his free hand through his short, thick hair. His eyes narrowed in thought. “The last thing I remember clearly is standing in Darlene’s garden after the party.” He closed his eyes as if the scene were playing out on the insides of his eyelids. “I’d had rather a lot to drink and I went out to get some fresh air.” His lids flew open. “Darlene accused me of spoiling her evening. Then there was Darryl and LouElla …” His voice trailed off. “I was pretty low. LouElla took me in hand and talked me into Phoenix House.” Daddy turned sincere brown eyes on me. “I realize now that I’ve had a drinking problem ever since your mother died, probably before. I should have taken that doctor’s advice in Annapolis, shouldn’t I?”
I nodded.
“Sometimes you have to hit rock bottom before you can start climbing back up. Well, there wasn’t much lower I could go than sprawled in the dirt in Darlene’s garden.”
I was so stunned that it was taking a while for everything to sink in. Garden. LouElla. Phoenix House. What the hell was Phoenix House?
I looked around the room and light dawned. Smooth, off-white walls surrounded us. Cheerful drapes hung at the window. A hospital bed, a dresser, a bedside table on wheels, and a leather chair were the only furniture. A stack of magazines sat next to a CD player on a windowsill. The sink I had just used was tucked away in a corner. Through an open door in a room that might once have been a closet, I saw a toilet and shower stall. Sammy’s hospital room. This was Phoenix House.
I was in a hurry to hustle Daddy out of there, but he was in no condition to go anywhere in his underwear. “Where are your clothes?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know; I haven’t really needed them.”
I crossed the room to the dresser and opened the top drawer. Four undershirts and briefs lay inside, neatly folded. Fruit of the Loom, not his usual brand. In the next drawer down were my father’s gray flannel slacks and blue sweater, confirming what I suspected: He’d come here the night he disappeared. In the bottom drawer lay his watch and wallet and his shoes, neatly aligned, with his socks tucked inside. “Come on, Daddy. Get dressed and let’s go home.”
I laid Daddy’s clothes out on the bed, made sure he was steady enough on his feet to get into them, then turned my back and stared out the window while he got dressed. From his window and through the bare winter trees, Daddy would have had a clear view of the courthouse, but not much more. No wonder he was confused about where he was. I wondered if LouElla had kept him sedated.
Not wanting to alarm him, I asked, “So, LouElla’s been taking care of you?”
I heard the sound of a zipper. “She introduced herself at the party as a nurse at Phoenix House. Told me all about the programs they have here.” His voice was muffled by the sweater going on over his head. “When LouElla found me, she said I was practically unconscious. The next thing I know, I wake up here, in the hospital, and LouElla is telling me it’s time I turned myself over to a professional.” Still in his bare feet, he crossed to where I was standing at the window. “I should have done this a long time ago, Hannah. I feel great!”
“But, Daddy, she kidnapped you!”
Daddy threw back his head and laughed. “Kidnapped! That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard! I’m here because I want to be here.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and motioned for me to sit in the chair. “And LouElla really knows her stuff. She nursed me through withdrawal, gave me something to help with the headaches—God, did I have headaches!—and sat with me until the worst of them were over.” He laid both hands open across his stomach. “And this facility has a wonderful cook!” He grinned. “Who needs the Betty Ford Clinic if you have Phoenix House?” He stared at a spot on the wall and looked wistful. “Reminded me a lot of your mother’s cooking.”
I started to say something in defense of Ruth, who had been chief-cook-and-bottle-washer in my father’s house for the last eight months. I’m sure he appreciated the effort Ruth put into her cooking, but I knew that vegetarian chili and lentil stew didn’t exactly set his taste buds racing. As if he knew what I was thinking, he said, “Last night I reached a milestone. I had a big, juicy T-bone.”
I couldn’t stand it. “Daddy, we’ve been looking everywhere for you! LouElla knew it, too, and she didn’t say one word about your being here.”
Daddy shrugged. “There are rules.”
“We were even in the house, for Christ’s sake, and she didn’t say anything!”
“But she told me. From time to time I heard your voice, and today I thought I heard Emily. When I asked LouElla about it, she explained that you were allowed to check in on me, but as part of the treatment, I wouldn’t be allowed visitors until I was cured. It was to give me an incentive. And it worked. The woman is a genius.”
“Daddy, you are not in a hospital. You are not in a nursing home. You are not in a treatment center. This is her house, for heaven’s sake.”
“Does it matter?” He spread his arms wide. “I’m cured. Look at me, Hannah! I’m cured!”
Daddy did look wonderful. The sickly pallor was gone, and his cheeks had filled out, erasing the lines that had been deepening around his nose and mouth, but it was in his eyes where the real difference lay. Two weeks ago they had been narrow, hooded slits, but today Daddy looked at me with eyes that sparkled with life.
He bent over to tie his shoes. “I can’t wait to show Darlene.”
My blood froze. So, LouElla hadn’t told him about Darlene’s death. What was I going to do now? With his “cure” so fresh, I worried that he’d not be able to take the news without tumbling off the wagon and flat on his face. But Darlene’s house was only fifty yards away. He’d be expecting to see her. There was no way around it.
“Daddy, sit down. I’ve got really bad news for you.”
“What? What?” He looked confused.
“Darlene’s dead.”
“She … she can’t be dead! We’re getting married.”
I laid a hand on his arm. “Daddy, I’m so sorry, but she died the night of the party.”
He blinked rapidly. “She can’t have died! She was perfectly fine when I left her.”
“When did you see her last?” I asked. I’d been spending so much time around the police I was beginning to sound like them.
His eyes rolled around as if trying to focus on five or six things at once. He shook his head. “It’s fuzzy.” His eyebrows knit in concentration. “Everybody went home, and we stayed up talking to Darryl.” He paused again. “Then Darlene and I had words and she went upstairs to take her bath. Darryl stayed for a few more drinks and …” He spread his hands, palm up. “That’s all I remember.” Something I had said before suddenly clicked. “Why were the police looking for me?”
“They thought you might have had something to do with Darlene’s death.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“They thought maybe you’d killed her, then run away.”
My father sat there, dry-eyed, stunned, as if someone had clobbered him with a blunt object and he was still trying to figure out what happened. “Killed her?”
“They found her dead in the bathtub, Daddy, and they say that somebody put enough blood pressure medicine into her schnapps to put her to sleep forever. Something called clonidine.”
“My God.” His eyes locked on mine. After what seemed like minutes, he looked away. “Did she suffer?”
“I don’t think so. She just went to sleep.”
“Blood pressure medicine?” He shook his head. “Who the hell could have done that?”
“Just about anybody at the party.”
“And the police think that I …” His chin sank to his chest. “Where would I get blood pressure medicine? It’s a prescription, isn’t it? People don’t just leave it lying about.”
“But, Daddy, don’t you see? If LouElla had access to sedatives, she may have had access to other medications, like clonidine! Did it occur to you that LouElla might be in love with you, and that she killed Darle
ne because she was jealous?”
“That’s nonsense. She always acted properly toward me. Like a nurse. Friendly, proficient, caring, but not too personal. Very professional.”
I had to admit that if LouElla had been harboring any jealous hatred of Darlene, she had hidden it well. I remembered how friendly she had been on every occasion when I had seen them together. How could this Good Samaritan, this Mother Teresa, this Florence Nightingale, this poster child for Meals on Wheels be capable of killing anyone?
“Where is she, anyway?”
“LouElla’s gone to the store,” I lied. “But first things first. First we get you home, then we talk to the police, then we worry about LouElla.”
Daddy glanced at the bare wrist where he usually wore his watch, then looked up at me in alarm. “What day is it?”
“December twenty-seventh.”
“You mean I’ve missed Christmas?” He looked like a little boy lost.
“If LouElla’s cure worked,” I said, “you’ll have given us the best Christmas present we ever had. We’ll have our father back.”
Daddy grinned at me sheepishly. “I’m not completely helpless, sweetheart. I do have some presents wrapped up for you at home.”
“Time for that later,” I said, reaching for his hand. “Let’s get out of here.”
Daddy took two unsteady steps, then stopped dead in his tracks. “Where did you say LouElla was?” he asked again. “I need to thank her.”
I knew exactly where LouElla was, but was beginning to worry that Emily would be running out of ways to keep her distracted. I hustled Daddy out of his cell, being careful to lock the bedroom door behind me. Before I helped my father down the treacherous stairs, I slipped the key back onto its hook. Take that, LouElla Van Schuyler! A locked-room mystery of your very own. See if you can figure it out.
chapter
16
I had reached a crossroads, literally and figuratively. As my car idled at the stoplight at the intersection of High and Cross, I knew what I should do. I knew I should turn left and drive straight to the Chestertown police station. I knew I should park in one of the diagonal spaces out front, walk up the steps, push through the front door, approach the counter, and ask for Captain Younger. I should tell him we’d found the fugitive. We’d found our father.
But I didn’t do any of those things. I turned right and got out of Dodge as if the posse were hot on my trail.
It wasn’t the posse who caught up with me, though. It was my pesky good angel. Three miles out of town on Route 213, she took control of the steering wheel and forced me to swerve into the parking lot of Dunkin’ Donuts. I shifted into neutral with the engine still running. “We have to go back, Daddy.”
The victim had other ideas. “Take me home.”
“But you were kidnapped! We have to tell the police what happened.”
“You can tell the police whatever you want, Hannah, but I’m not going to press charges against that woman. She gave me back my life, and I’m grateful, even if her methods were a little unorthodox.” He sat in the passenger seat with his head bowed and his hands folded, as if he were praying. “I just can’t believe that Darlene is dead.”
I shifted into park, turned off the engine and, in the gathering silence, stared straight ahead through the windshield. I couldn’t bear to look at my father, to see his pain. “That’s one reason we have to see the police, Daddy. In a weird way, LouElla is your alibi.”
“Not now, Hannah.” He spoke so softly I could barely hear him.
“Daddy—”
“No!”
I should have known better than to try to pull rank on my father. My knuckles had been soundly rapped. After a few minutes spent staring hungrily into the window of the restaurant where doughnuts were being rearranged on large aluminum trays, I asked, “Do you have your wallet?”
“I guess so. Why?” He patted the bulge in his back pocket, reached in with two fingers, and drew out a battered tent of folded leather.
I felt my ears go red. “I left home without my purse, and I’m dying for some coffee.”
He handed me a ten. “Here. I think we could both use some.”
While he waited in the car, silently mourning, I went into the restaurant and bought us each a cup of strong black coffee. I doctored mine generously with milk and sugar, then with Daddy’s change, I used the pay phone to call Paul at his office with the good news. I tried to reach Emily, too, but she didn’t pick up on the cell phone. She was probably still busy with LouElla. Then I drove Daddy home and waited for what would happen next. Qué será, será, I thought. What will be, will be.
Fortunately it was Emily who first burst through our front door. “Where’s Gramps? Did you find him?” She plopped Chloe and the errant Tinky Winky down on the carpet and shrugged out of her coat.
“Yes! He’s upstairs. I tried to call you.”
“The battery went dead on the damn phone.”
I groaned. My fault. I hadn’t recharged it in months.
We sat on the sofa together and traded adventures. Emily told me how LouElla had clucked over Speedo like a mother hen, but that the dog seemed unfazed by his thorough (and completely unnecessary) flea dip. Emily had dropped both dog and master off at LouElla’s house, then beat it out of town, hell-bent for leather. Both of us wondered what LouElla would do once she found Daddy missing; her behavior was anything but predictable.
We kept Emily’s involvement in this escapade from Daddy, who was, not surprisingly, in a blue funk. First, we installed him in front of the TV and kept him supplied with cranberry juice, soda water, and twists of lime. Then, while I began preparations for dinner, Emily called Ruth and Georgina to pass the good word. When Paul came charging through the door twenty minutes later, he found Emily sitting at the kitchen table calmly spooning strained carrots into Chloe, and me stirring the chili.
“You are going to call the cops, aren’t you, Hannah?”
I nodded. “Soon.”
“What about LouElla?”
I had to think about that. By now, LouElla would have discovered that Daddy was gone. Maybe she’d assume he’d been beamed up by aliens. I should let her know he’d come home, but I didn’t care if her hair turned snow white with worry. How could she put us through that unnecessary suffering? Being loony tunes was no excuse.
It was very clear to me now how Daddy’s car had turned up at BWI: LouElla had driven it there herself. How she’d gotten herself from the airport to Chestertown afterward, I didn’t exactly know, but it had to involve a combination of trains and buses and, what with Maryland’s piss-poor public transportation system, must have taken nearly all day to accomplish. Unless she sprang for a cab. I’d let the police sort that one out. I had too much on my mind right now to lose any sleep over some stupid bus schedule or cabby’s trip log.
A bigger worry was that the news of Darlene’s death would send Daddy crawling back down the neck of a bottle of Smirnoff, but in a way he seemed strangely calm, as if Darlene were part of a life he had chosen to leave behind, a life dulled by alcohol and grief.
That night after dinner, we settled down in the living room before a roaring fire with a Tupperware container of chocolate chip cookies and mugs of hot coffee. I put some CDs on to play, lit the candles on the mantel, and sat back to admire the tree; multicolored pin lights twinkled in synchronized waves of red, blue, white, and green, while the ornaments sparkled and twirled.
Daddy sat like a lump for a while, then suddenly spoke, as if awakening from a coma. “I see now that I wasn’t really in love with Darlene. I felt sorry for her, I think, and for myself. She’d lost her husband and I’d just lost your mother …” His voice trailed off and he stared into the fireplace for a long moment, where the logs, still damp from the woodpile, were snapping and crackling in the flames. “Darlene had a lot of tragedy in her life.”
I didn’t think that was much of a reason to marry somebody. “Well, I’ll never forgive her for bringing you that bottle of booze
in the hospital.”
With his lips pressed together, Daddy nodded. “Darlene wasn’t so blind she didn’t see that I had a problem; she just didn’t believe I was an alcoholic.”
“Why did she check you out of the hospital, then, before the tests came back?”
“She said she could teach me how to control my drinking, to cut back gradually.” His head sank back into the soft cushion of the chair. He smiled sadly. “Darlene always said a little beer or wine never hurt anybody.”
“Vodka isn’t beer,” I stated flatly.
“I know. It was LouElla who put me on the right track about that, who helped me realize that what I was doing was maintenance drinking. I’d have just enough vodka to keep from getting those monster headaches …” He closed his eyes and seemed to let the music wash over him. “Maybe Darlene just didn’t want to drink alone,” he mused.
What was it about my father, anyway? Had he stood on some street corner and shouted, Look at me! I’m needy! Darlene and LouElla had certainly had that in common—an attraction to men who required rehabilitation.
Using both hands, Daddy raised his mug slowly to his lips and spoke to me over the rim. “It’s like a veil has been lifted and I can see things clearly for the first time in many, many months. Even your mother’s illness seems like a dream to me now, almost like it didn’t happen to me, but to that person I was then. That guy whose brain was pickled in alcohol.” He smiled ruefully. “I feel guilty about that.”
“You have no reason to feel guilty. You were a rock to Mother. You never left her side.”
“I felt numb, Hannah, like my whole body had been injected with Novocain.”
“I know. I felt that way, too, when Mom died.”
“We all did,” Paul said.
Daddy rose and stabbed at the fire with a poker until sparks spiraled up the chimney. “We need to find out who killed her, Hannah.”
Occasion of Revenge Page 18
